Page 42 of Thirst
“You know we can sense a lie, don’t you?” I rose to my feet, bringing him with me, so that he was forced to stand on tiptoes. Allowing him just enough air so my fun didn’t end too soon.
He gave up trying to defend himself. “You—” he gasped. “You won’t—get away with this. I have—friends.”
I snorted. “Nobody cares about you except your poker buddies, and my guess is they’ll miss you for two weeks, tops. If they do come to the castle asking about you, we’ll stonewall them. Maybe I’ll even burn down this damn house. In a few years, no one will even remember you ever lived here.”
His eyes bulged. He slammed his knee up toward my balls. I blocked it with my thigh, then lifted him above me and walked across the floor with him. When he realized where I was heading, he went wild, kicking and twisting in my grip. He was still fighting when I tossed him, headfirst, out the window.
He flew toward the graveled driveway below, arms and legs flailing in a useless scramble. At the last second, he twisted, landing on his side instead of his head. His left arm gave with a satisfying crack.
I landed in a crouch beside his crumpled form. He sucked in a sobbing breath, his heart thrashing against his ribs like it wanted out.
“You’re still alive.” I smiled down at him. “Good. I’m not done playing.”
12
Nyx
The human that Nazaire wanted me to meet was Cain’s uncle.
The Maritime Syndicate lieutenant he’d mentioned? It had to be Cain. The man wanted to sell his own nephew to us.
My stomach churned.
I lowered my head to my hands.
I can’t do this.
I pressed my fingertips into my closed eyes, like I could somehow gouge out what I’d just pieced together.
I’d spent most of today trying to figure a way out of this mess. But there wasn’t one. If I backed out now, my father would demand to know why. What was I supposed to say—that Cain was my lover?
I could picture how that conversation would go.
Besides, did I even want Nazaire to send someone else? This was Cain.
They wouldn’t just capture him, they’d torture him and laugh at his pain. And when they were done, they’d stake him.
Nazaire might even make me watch.
I couldn’t let that happen. Not to Cain.
I hadn’t been able to dig up much on Baker—he barely existed online—but I did find a foreclosure notice. He was about to lose his house, and Cain, a syndicate lieutenant with money to spare, could’ve saved it with a single wire transfer. If Baker was drowning, it was because Cain had let him sink.
Then again, Baker was trying to make his nephew disappear, so I guess the “love” went both ways.
Nazaire, of course, hadn’t been able to resist. He’d do anything to hurt Brien. I was starting to think this vendetta against Brien was personal. I just wish I knew why.
But why me? This was the kind of assignment my father gave to his inner circle, not to me.
My head jerked up, a horrible suspicion sinking its talons into my brain.
Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe Nazaire had found out about me and Cain.
We’d been discreet, meeting only a handful of times, and always when we were both in the same place for other reasons.
Except Paris.
Cain had made that trip for one reason: me.
